


Hazel

by frostedroyaltea



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Backstory, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Centaurs, Demons, Fae & Fairies, Fairy World, French Character, Ireland, Irish Mythology - Freeform, Irish/Russian Character, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology - Freeform, Original Character(s), Prequel, Short, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28947609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostedroyaltea/pseuds/frostedroyaltea
Summary: The sky was wide and blue above him. Here no planes roared overhead, no smoke stained the clouds. It would have been peaceful if not for death tainting the air.
Relationships: Seaghán Yerkhov/Louis Chevalier





	Hazel

Seaghán lay. Where, he did not know. He had fallen down a hill somewhere, fleeing after he had been shot, fracturing his leg as he tried to catch himself. No one was supposed to have seen him. 

The sky was wide and blue above him. Here no planes roared overhead, no smoke stained the clouds. It would have been peaceful if not for death tainting the air.

A bullet pierced his belly. Time had since passed since he had felt any pain. High from blood loss and going without oxygen. Soon, he knew, he'd die here if no help came. But it was silent except for insects in the grass and songbirds in the trees.

Something cracked underfoot in the brush nearby. Seaghán lolled his head, trying to find what made the sound. His vision was blurring now though, he only saw blurred shadows in front of a backdrop of golden sun. 

There were words murmured in a tongue he couldn't understand. There was a gust of hot breath on his cheek. Seaghán blinked and the world around him hazed. 

"If they knew," the words were muttered in Irish. 

"They'd kill him."

He felt the breath again, on his arm. "He isn't human."

"Of course he is."

"He _isn't_. If he was he wouldn't be here. They would have killed him as soon as stepped foot here."

Seaghán blinked again. He moaned low in his throat when one prodded his belly. He couldn't tell how many there were, their faces and voices seemed to shift, leaping from one to the other. 

There was a tittering of wings, sounding like beetles and falling snow and rain. A sound almost like bells. His vision grew dark. "He is one of their children," a deep-voiced one said. "He has spent time with the other halflings."

"A demon," one said. "Not a fae. Not one of us." Seaghán could hear the disgust, thick enough in its voice that it made its way through the fog in his mind.

Large hands and larger arms wrapped around his body lifting him. Seaghán gasped as pain flashed through him. Hot blood stained his sides and spilled down onto the grass. "If we are to save him we must be quick."

There was a murmuring of voices, and a clatter of hooves. There was no warm smell of horses or other farm animals. No tang of polish or leather. There was the sound of galloping, rattling through Seaghán with every step. 

Time faded into the background. The pain ebbed and darkness was brought forth. 

Some time later Seaghán felt the prick of a needle in his belly. He flinched away and groaned. There was a voice and soft thuds on the ground beside him. 

He shifted and felt dirt on his cheek. Hands placed themselves on his torso and he stilled. A hand slid behind his head and lifted. A cup was brought to his lips and the person holding it coaxed the liquid into his mouth. Seaghán didn't fight it, too exhausted to care. The voice murmured something and the hand rested his head back on the ground. There was a pillow of some sort there, cushioning him. 

Somewhere someone started singing, words Seaghán couldn't understand. Not Irish, Russian, English. He didn't recognize the accent, or the sound of the words. They were entirely unfamiliar. 

His eyes cracked open. "He's awake," one said, this time in Irish. A head turned towards him. A hand touched the side of his face and eyes peered into his. "What is your name?"

"Seaghán."

"You do not sound Irish. But not many people do. Not anymore." 

His head lolled. His eyes closed. "Let him sleep," a voice said and Seaghán heard horses hooves again. His eyes closed and the world faded. 

There was a jerk and a low apology. It was the deep-voiced one. Seaghán cracked his eyes open. And flung himself back. It was… he blinked, his mind trying to process exactly what he was seeing. His breaths came out ragged, his chest coming up in quick thrusts. Whatever it was kneeled on horses knees, Seaghán could see a tail swishing on the slope of its back. It had a human torso, a human's head, human arms. A centaur.

The hands reached for him, tugging forward until he was laying down on his back. Seaghán jerked away from the hands but they pinned him down. "Hold still," the voice commanded. Seaghán complied, chest heaving, eyes wide with terror staring into the centaur's. "You tore your stitches."

Seaghán lay frozen as gentle hands batted away his own. The centaur threaded a needle and was quick to restitch what Seaghán tore. "How?" Seaghán was convinced he was dead now. It wasn't impossible. They were in some sort of cave, going back a little ways but it was small enough Seaghán could see the back of it. Outside there was a grove, sunlight filtering through the trees and into the cave. "How?" he asked again.

Another walked in, hooves clopping on the floor. "The boy is confused." This one's voice was higher melodic.

"I am not a boy," Seaghán said, sticking his chin out and clenching the muscles in his jaw. 

The second centaur crossed its arms and stared. Seaghán swallowed. "We are far older than you. Though you are descended from our kin you are more _human_ than not." The centaur sneered 'human' like it was a curse, a lewd thing to be called. "We are older by centuries." The centaur bared its teeth and Seaghán shuddered, seeing the teeth were far sharper than any he had seen in any horse or human mouth. They were not quite predatory but still unearthly. 

"Do not frighten him Helios," the deep-voiced centaur said. 

Helios scoffed and left, disappearing between the trees. 

The deep-voiced centaur reached down. Its human arms were dark brown, its horse's skin dark grey and speckled with white and lighter grey. Its eyes were a startling yellow, reminding Seaghán of the hawks and eagles he often saw soaring overhead on days when there was no gunfire to be heard. Its hair was inky black. It helped Seaghán sit, on the cushion he laid on before, leaning on the wall. The stone was soft and warm with the sun. "Call me Mahogany. Are you hungry?"

Mahogany didn't wait for Seaghán's reply though his mouth opened to answer. He was handed a bowl carved from wood. There was some kind of broth inside, warming his hands even through the wood. Seaghán was handed a spoon and Mahogany knelt back down beside him. "I know you have questions."

Seaghán nodded uneasily. Cautiously he brought the spoon laden with broth to his lips. They hadn't hurt him before though Helios seemed… to have a disliking for humans. Or whatever he was. Fae he heard. A halfling. Seaghán had heard the legends and stories in pubs. Though they were all laughed off as children's tales he knew most wouldn't risk stepping into a fairy ring or going off into the mist. 

There had been mist before he fell down that hill, tripping over an exposed root, clouding his vision before sunlight pierced through it. Seaghán picked his lips and ate more of the soup. "How is this real? Who are you real?" 

"How are _you_ real? Even with as long as I've lived I am young for my kind. I only just reached adulthood decades ago." Seaghán blinked and stared. Mahogany made a sound that must've been a laugh. A sound between a snort and a chuckle. "Oh don't look like that. The animals in your world all have different life spans, all mature at different rates. Why should it be any different for sentient beings?"

"I… suppose you're right," Seaghán said slowly. "How did I get here?"

"I don't know," Mahogany said. "You were there for a while. You're lucky you're kin. The fae would have killed you otherwise." 

"How am I kin?"

"Tuatha Dé Danann perhaps. Or the fae. Or Mór-Ríoghain, the child of one of Niamh and Oisín’s descendants. Perhaps Morgana herself. We do not know.” Mahogany settled back on long horse legs. The joints didn’t bend quite like a horse’s. Seaghán stared. “We do know you are not of kelpie, balor, or caorthannach blood. You do not have their smell or their heat thrumming beneath your bones. Someone you have been around does, though. A different demon. Not of our origin. Newer.” 

“How many of you were there?” Seaghán swallowed another mouthful of broth. “When you found me?”  
  
“Thirteen.” Mahogany studied Seaghán with glittering eyes before sharply saying, “And don’t say like horses.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Seaghán said, voice rising in protest. Mahogany snorted. Centaurs shook their heads a lot like horses, Seaghán marvelled, when annoyed or upset. 

Seaghán set his bowl down. The spoon rattled against the side and Seaghán stilled it with a finger. He slumped against the wall and watched Mahogany with quickly closing eyes. “You must rest,” Mahogany said. 

Arms wrapped around him and Seaghán leaned into the chest before slumping into the ground. Fingers brushed over his eyes and Seaghán closed them. His breathing quieted and he slept. 

The sun shone in the cave, piercing behind his lids to his eyes. Seaghán groaned and covered his face with his arm. There was a hollow laughing sound. Another centaur, a palomino, blond hair on the tail and head, walked in. “I see you are awake. You have slept long. 

Seaghán startled and the centaur laughed again. “Please,” it said. “It’s just the next day. You must be leaving. Your humans will be looking for you.”

“What’s your name?” Seaghán asked. His tongue moved slow and thick in his throat. He swallowed and winced at the dryness in his throat. 

“Coreopsis.” This centaur’s arms were long and tanned. Its torso was paler, almost white. Coreopsis helped Seaghán to his feet, walking a pace behind him as he stumbled outside. “I’ll be taking you back. Blake,” Coreopsis gestured to a black coated and haired centaur, “and Ivory,” a gesture to the all-white centaur, pink eyed and faced, “will be coming.”

Seaghán nodded, mind still heavy with sleep.  
  
“Here.”

A bowl was handed to Seaghán. He stared at it and tilted it slightly. The liquid inside swirled stiffly, looking to be the texture of paste or muddied water. 

“You’ll want to drink it. The ride will be long and painful.”

Blearily Seaghán remembered the arms around him, the jostling, the jolting pain going through the wound in his stomach. “I could ride you?”

  
  
Coreopsis barred their teeth. They were sharp and jagged. Seaghán swallowed. “Never,” Coreopsis said, barking the word in a shrill tone. "Now drink." Coreopsis's tail slashed. Seaghán was quick to obey, not wanting to anger the centaur. 

The drink left a bitter taste in his mouth and a woozy feeling in his head. "I," he said as he was lifted in the air, "do not wish to be carried like a _child_."

"Do you have any other ideas?" Ivory said hotly.

"Yes. There… there are shoulder carries…" He yawned. "Fireman carries they're called." Coreopsis's arms were warm and Seaghán nestled in them. He yawned again. 

There was a humming, vibrating through the chest Seaghán leaned against. It was Coreopsis. It sounded teasing and Seaghán frowned. "Those holds are made for getting people out of dangerous situations quickly. Or for carrying full sacks on their backs. This is better. Many creatures do not like riding or being held by us in any manner. It is jarring and unnerves them. I suspect you will be no different.

Seaghán grumbled a little but Coreopsis had already begun moving so he quieted. Soon enough the drink took hold and the world around him hazed. Seaghán closed his eyes, the blurring scenery making him nauseated. 

When Seaghán opened his eyes again the wound in his belly was throbbing and he could feel heat in his back where the bullet exited. Coreopsis knelt on the ground and laid Seaghán there. "Your people will find you soon. There are people nearby. Their clothes and patches match yours. Two days have passed for the one in my world.” 

Ivory and Blake shifted, nervous. Ivory was holding a bow drawn taut and Blake held what looked like a cross between a sword and knife, it's blade as long as a centaur's arm and looking wicked with it's curved serrated edges. Seaghán's eyes found Coreopsis's eyes again. 

"They will find you soon," Coreopsis said. Coreopsis took a knife from a belt, worn around the waist, Seaghán had only just noticed it, the other centaur's he saw did not wear it and he had not seen it on Coreopsis earlier. Coreopsis set the knife to Seaghán's wound. "I am sorry," Coreopsis said, "but they must not know about us."

Coreopsis’s knife cut through the stitches and Seaghán groaned as warm blood spilled down his sides. "You may not remember when you wake again, you may have trouble remembering. It might all feel like a dream. Or you might remember everything in vivid detail. Do not seek us out, we will not be happy."

There was the quiet clopping of hooves in dirt. "We must leave," Ivory said. "They are looking for him."

There was a whistling then, loud and sharp. A sharp wild horse’s scream. Seaghán's head spun and his body ached. Darkness crushed down on his eyes. Blake was whistling, fingers raised to lips. They fled then, galloping. Soon they were just dark shapes melting into shadow. 

Seaghán's head drooped, lolling against a log his hair brushed against. His thoughts were slipping away, his belly was warm and wet with blood. Everything felt it was swaying around him and then it all faded away. 

Flashlights shone in his face. There was shouting, hand pressing down on his stomach. Seaghán jolted and yelped. He lunged up and fought at the hands on his shoulders, trying to press him into the ground.  
  
There was a murmured voice in his ear, low and sweet. “Shh, my dear.” A finger brushed his hair behind his ear. “We’re helping. Lie still.” Louis moved back and Seaghán stilled. The medics moved him onto a stretcher now and lifted him in the air, the stretcher's handles resting on their shoulders, hands holding the handles in a strong grasp. 

Seaghán tilted his head to one side. Louis was there, walking, matching their steady pace. His necklace and dog chains swung side to side, matching the movements of his shoulders. His hazel eyes shone with gold in the sun. Louis turned. He caught Seaghán’s eye and smiled. Seaghán smiled and closed his eyes.

He woke slowly, muscles stiff, torso wrapped tight with bandages. The wound twanged and pulsed with heat. The medic’s stitches were much more crude than the centaurs. The thread thick and dark compared to the slight sliver of the centaurs’ thread. 

A hand moved through his hair and Seaghán grinned. He cracked an eye open and smiled wider. “Hi.” He reached for Louis and Louis laid beside him on the mat. “How long was I out?”  
  
“Through the night. It’s noon now. We’ll stay here a few days while you recover. They said I could stay.”

  
  
“Hmm. Where are they?” Seaghán murmured, low in Louis’s ear.

Louis swallowed and Seaghán could feel his heart quicken against his arm. “Lunch.” His voice was thick in his throat. Seaghán pressed his lips to Louis’s neck and grinned before kissing him there. Louis cupped the back of Seaghán’s head and pressed a kiss to his lips. Seaghán shivered against him. Louis grabbed him and Seaghán was quick to groan than sigh against him. 

Seaghán’s eyes closed and he kissed the column of Louis’s throat. “I was worried,” Louis said. 

“I’m sorry.”  
  


“Sorry? Don’t be sorry. You were shot.” Louis kissed Seaghán’s lips. “How did they even see you?”  
  


“I don’t know. I didn’t see anyone.”

  
  
“You were pretty high up.”

  
  
“I know. I wasn’t looking up. I should have been. The shot came from the direction of the people I was targeting.”

  
“I’m glad you were okay.” Louis pressed his forward to Seaghán’s. “I can’t lose you.”

  
  
“And I you.”  
  



End file.
